


Hate You Didn't Try

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-21
Updated: 2006-07-21
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:28:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Pretty angst. The dorm sex I promised wendy way back when. See, eventually I get around to everything! *nods* Also, this fic acts as something of a follow-up to The Crumbling Difference Between Wrong and Right.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** Hate You Didn’t Try  
**Author:** [ ](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/profile)[**keepaofthecheez**](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/)  
**Characters:** Sam/Dean  
**Rating:** R for language and incest.  
**Word Count:** 1, 337  
**Spoilers/Warnings:** pre-Pilot; incest, sexual content, and language.  
**Disclaimer:** Oh, if only.   
**Summary:** Pretty angst. There might also be mentions of Dean’s cock, so quit acting like that’s not enough of a summary for you.   
**Notes:** The dorm sex I promised [ ](http://wendy.livejournal.com/profile)[**wendy**](http://wendy.livejournal.com/) way back when. See, eventually I get around to everything! *nods* Also, this fic acts as something of a follow-up to [The Crumbling Difference Between Wrong and Right.](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/139573.html)  
Also used to fill the prompt: “Melancholy” for [ ](http://community.livejournal.com/100moods/profile)[](http://community.livejournal.com/100moods/)**100moods**.  
  
  
  
It took Sam exactly two minutes to realize he was being followed.   
  
He hadn’t been “out of the game” long enough to miss the telltale signs, although admittedly, he’d tried to ignore them as long as possible before his natural instincts demanded he do something about it.  
  
He’d first noticed it when he’d come out of his dorm building, backpack slung across one shoulder as he mentally calculated the time it would take to cram some studying in at the library before dinner. Halfway across campus, the hair on the back of his neck had prickled, and he felt the weight of a stare as heavy as an anvil to the head. When he’d looked around, he’d caught the subtle, familiar idling of an engine somewhere nearby, and he _knew_.  
  
Sam waited all night for Dean to show himself, until he’d finally fallen asleep on scratchy sheets with his brother’s name a curse upon his lips. And he dreamed of the past; of hands and teeth and tongue, of tender eyes and helpless moans. And then, the bitterness. Dean’s choked voice when Sam had said he was done, was leaving and wasn’t looking back.  
  
It was that horrific memory that had Sam sitting up in the dark, gasping for breath as emotions he’d thought to have mastered clogged his throat. His eyes felt heavy and wet, and he scrubbed a shaky hand down his face before noticing the silhouette by the window. He froze until recognition settled in, and then his body went stiff.  
  
“So you still have bad dreams.”   
  
It was a low murmur, but carried a wealth of meaning Sam couldn’t pretend not to understand. He looked up, catching Dean’s eyes as moonlight highlighted his older brother’s features, and Sam’s answer lodged somewhere between his chest and his throat.  
  
He’d often wondered what would happen when he saw Dean again. Despite his words on that night he tried so hard to forget, he’d never intended for things to go the way they had. For the rift between himself and Dean – a chasm he’d help create – to grow so wide and irreparable.   
  
Then again, he hadn’t done anything to stop it, either. Just tried to put it all behind him, to move on and push aside the pain and regret and make the best of what he had left. And as the months went on, and Sam absorbed what normal truly meant away from the Winchesters, he finally understood what Dean had always been so scared of him finding out.  
  
He let out a sigh, falling back on his elbows and rubbing at tired eyes. “You could’ve called first.” The words were inane, ridiculous, but fuck he had to say _something_ , and having Dean right there in the room with him again after two years of nothing was wreaking havoc on Sam’s supposed intelligence.  
  
Dean didn’t move; just stood and stared at Sam, still sitting half-way up in bed. His eyes glittered in the pale light, and a trickle of uncertainty started to creep up Sam’s spine. The tension was palpable in the small room, thickening the air between them, and anticipation took on the form of adrenaline in Sam’s system.  
  
When Dean spoke again his voice was slurred and husky, and Sam had to bite his lip to keep from groaning aloud at the memory of that voice in his ear, against his skin. “I…didn’t mean to come here.”  
  
Sam blinked, abruptly disappointed. And then, he got pissed. “Then why _are_ you here?” he snapped, sitting straight up as the sheets fell around his stomach. He hated the fact that Dean had the advantage, but he’d be damned if he’d stand up and give his brother the perverse satisfaction of discovering that Sam still wore nothing to bed. That he did it because it was the one thing about their time together that he could hold onto, and at the same time pretend to ignore.  
  
When Dean didn’t answer, Sam’s jaw tightened and he swallowed the hurt before shrugging his shoulders in a gesture he hoped came across as cold and aloof as Dean was being. “Whatever. When you leave, you should get the Impala looked at. Engine’s rattling again.”  
  
Which really meant _I fucking missed you. What took you so long?_  
  
“Got into some trouble in Sacramento. I’ll have Bobby take a look at her.” Which really meant, _Why did you leave? Why did you stop trying?_  
  
But they both chose to ignore the subtext.  
  
When it became clear that there was really nothing more to be said, Sam let out a small sound of frustration and sank back against the mattress. “I have an early class in the morning,” he said woodenly, letting the words trail off as Dean shifted by the window. He squeezed his eyes shut, just wanting it to be over, hating himself and Dean and the entire fucking situation that had brought them to _this_.  
  
Two total strangers in a dorm room.  
  
The grief of that was nearly overpowering, and he rolled over, gifting Dean with his back as he stared at the wall, jaw trembling. The minutes of silence went on and on, until he was sure Dean had left, and then…a subtle dip in the mattress, and Sam went stock-still.  
  
“Sammy.” Dean’s voice was a whisper, full of ache and remorse and several other emotions Sam was afraid to put a name to. And was terrified not to. A ghost of a caress tingled down his arm, and his fingers clenched into the sheets.  
  
“Don’t call me that,” he managed, voice thick. He half-turned, finding Dean stretched out beside him, his features reflecting the agony Sam knew was written across his own expression. And he wanted to scream at them both, but he settled for repeating, “I don’t want you to call me that.”  
  
A flash of hurt went through Dean’s eyes, but he nodded, close enough that his nose brushed Sam’s. Someone sighed, and then Dean’s lips were against his, and all hell broke loose. Sam’s fingers clutched at leather, shrugging the jacket off of Dean’s shoulders as his brother made a soft sound deep in his throat, his hand skimming across Sam’s hip over the sheet. The stroke was gentle, but Sam felt bruised.  
  
Within minutes they were skin-to-skin; Sam on his knees as Dean hovered over him, arm banded tight around Sam’s abdomen as his cock pressed against tight muscle. Sam’s eyes rolled back in his head when his flesh gave way around Dean, arching his back and letting out a strangled moan that Dean echoed.  
  
Neither of them spoke, and it was slightly disorienting in contrast to the tender words that had accompanied this in their youth. Tears stung Sam’s eyes at the thought, but he shook it off when Dean bit at his neck, picking up the pace with long strokes that had Sam gasping and gritting his teeth against the urge to come apart.  
  
And then, Dean spoke, voice ragged and goddamn _tortured_ , and this time, the sound of “Sammy…” on his brother’s lips sent a shock wave of desperation through Sam, and he pressed his cheek against his pillow and tilted his hips in offering.  
  
_I’m sorry_ , he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come. So he just laid there, listening to Dean practically sob as he fucked him, incoherent phrases and apologies and whatever else dripping from his lips - and Sam took it all, knowing he had nothing to give in return.  
  
Except this.  
  
It wasn’t until Dean choked out, “I want to hate you,” that Sam came, hips grinding against the sheets, perspiration and come dampening them to the mattress below. Dean followed immediately, twisting Sam’s neck to lick and bite at his mouth as he whimpered and thrust shallowly against Sam’s hips.  
  
They didn’t talk afterward, either, and when Sam woke up the next morning, Dean was gone. And as he listened to the heavy silence, he imagined he heard the distant sound of an engine, already miles away.


End file.
